


A Snake's Heir

by Becca_Lyn



Series: A Snake's Story [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Albus Dumbledore, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Evil Dumbledore, Family Issues, M/M, On the Run
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becca_Lyn/pseuds/Becca_Lyn
Summary: After Harry Potter escaped from Malfoy Manor with Draco in tow, Voldemort is on an almost desperate search for his soulmate. Voldemort quickly discovers that not only had Harry run away but had hidden his child from his sight. Now, he must find how to bring his daughter home and protect the family he never knew he needed.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort, one-sided Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Series: A Snake's Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624888
Comments: 37
Kudos: 336





	1. Lyra Lily

These woods were thick, difficult to traverse through, and hid many secrets. A perfect place for two young wizards to try and hide from the Dark Lord, though it certainly didn’t last long. Six years of hiding and all it took was one little hint, one accidental sighting, and Lord Voldemort was upon them. 

Wards surrounded the secret area, wrapped around each other in hardened intricate chains. If he wasn’t still furious at the idea of the man’s disappearance, his ingenious ability to create such powerful wards would have impressed him. But still, Voldemort’s anger won out. 

He was backed by his best, knowing he would need them in order to capture the stupid boy alive. He didn’t care what happened to Draco, but Harry needed to be brought back to him no matter what. He wouldn’t allow such a weakness to walk free in the world. 

But even his bravest seemed to stop and shudder at the sound of a quiet humming ahead of them. A sweet-sounding small voice seemed to call out to them, giving a sinister feeling to the forest around them. Voldemort feared nothing, yet the sound of a voice so small and innocent in a place so dark startled him. He shook it off, pushing further into the darkness, and finally coming to the edge of the wards, and finding something he hadn’t expected.

A girl, a small child sitting upon a fallen log, humming sweetly as she sketched in her journal. The sound of his arrival must have caught her attention, her voice dropping off, head turning to meet his, eyes wide and confused.

Voldemort took a moment to study the girl as his soldiers began to surround him. Her eyes, a dull grey, stared at him with hidden intelligence. She was pale, almost deathly so, hidden so carefully by silvery curls. Something about her, from the chubbiness of her cheeks, to the way she looked at him without fear, reminded him of someone.

This was Harry Potter’s child. 

Voldemort nearly let his rage consume him at the sight of the child. The silvery-white locks and grey eyes could only have come from one person. Potter did not only dare to run away, did not only attempt to snap their connection by being with another, but dared to let the Malfoy brat touch what was his and have a child with him! His disgust and fury must have shown on his face, the girl starting to back away from them.

Bellatrix, dear sweet Bella, saw the child and immediately began to coo at her, not knowing what her leader already knew. The girl didn’t seem eased by the sound, backing up even further, as if more terrified by Bellatrix’s voice than the snake-like visage Voldemort hid under.

“Who are you?” Her question was nearly silent, yet her voice seemed to carry magically over to them. 

“This is Lord Voldemort, child. You must show him respect.” 

The child’s nose wrinkled, her eyes searching Voldemort up and down, looking so much like Potter he almost let his fury out. 

“Respect is for my Daddy and Uncle. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone else.” She looked around at the people surrounding the wards. “I have never seen other people before though.”

Of course, Potter’s offspring wouldn’t listen to the rules given to her. He was surprised Potter gave the child rules at all.

“Maybe you can get your father for us. We’re looking for some dangerous people, two traitors.” He spoke slowly, making sure the child heard and understood every word. He could see her focus for a moment, her thoughts obviously focusing on what his words meant.

“I don’t think there are any traitors here.” She looked behind her, obviously towards where her home hid in the center of all the wards. “And why would I tell Daddy that I spoke to strangers when that could get me in trouble.”

Her eyes met his again in a defiant stare off, and he reached out with the intention of bursting through the wards in order to stalk towards her, hoping she would lead him to Potter when she ran, but was instead impressed by the painful sting biting into his skin. These wards were stronger than he had originally expected. 

The child’s defiant look only increased, making him angrier.

“Listen here-”

“ **_Lyra!_ ** ” 

The scream startled him, the sound of footsteps flying closer only made him hungrier. The child turned to the sound, her face more stricken than at any point in their conversation. Together they watched Harry Potter come sprinting through the woods, Malfoy following quickly behind. Voldemort smiled when Potter’s eyes met his, the look of contorted fear taking over the younger man’s face. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, several feet away from his daughter, the child only a couple away from the wards. He looked between his child and Voldemort, his body completely still.

Voldemort took the moment to search out how the young man had changed, from his sterner face covered with stubble, to his more filled out figure. He had obviously been preparing for this day by the way his lean muscle stood out. Potter was still a very beautiful man.

“Lyra. Come here. We’re leaving,  _ now _ .” Potter held his hand out to the child, and she quickly moved towards him at the order.

Voldemort wasn’t going to allow that. With a push, he snapped the first layer of wards like a twig, ordering his death eaters to do the same. The terror on their faces was palpable, and he could only grin wildly as wards began to fall before them.

Only to be shocked once more. 

The girl, Lyra as he now knew, turned towards them with her hands facing out, and without speaking a word, lifted a new ward, one none of them would be able to get through without days of work. 

The familial ward. One he had researched himself, only to discover his book had been taken when Potter left. Now he knew where it went. 

Lyra’s eyes were narrowed in concentration, but the spell almost seemed easy to her. A young magical prodigy, she had to be with the ability to control her magic so perfectly. He could only imagine how powerful she would be when her full magic began to set in. It was beautiful magic, he could nearly taste it in the air. Too powerful to come from a Malfoy.

He could only wonder what that meant.

Potter finally moved closer, as if knowing his daughter’s wards would protect them, even as Voldemort’s people attacked it. His wand was pointed towards them, his eyes practically glowing with the hidden magic within him. 

“Leave, Tom. You don’t belong here.”

And it was Potter’s words that made him snap, made him release his fury in a fiery burst against the wards, Potter’s eyes going wide with terror. A high-pitched scream filled the air, and the familial ward fell without question. 

The forest went still, all parties shocked into a stupor. The child cried loudly before them; fat, pained tears falling down her cheeks. Her hands were scorched, a vibrant red and black, blood dripping down her arms as she screamed in agony.

Potter seemed to take action first, lifting the screaming child into his arms, and running back towards his companion. Before his team could even start after them, Potter was gone, he and Malfoy efficiently apparating the child away, leaving Voldemort with a horrifying knowledge. 

Familial wards can only be broken by one’s family.

* * *

  
  


Six years ago. What had happened six years ago? Voldemort had begun the move into his own manor, planning on bringing Potter with him. Potter had been acting well lately, so a change of scenery was his reward, along with the lack of guards the boy would need when they were in their own home. Potter certainly couldn’t escape from his home without his knowledge.

But then Potter disappeared, along with the Malfoy brat, the two of them having stolen books when they went. Potter had left behind a few interesting books of his own when he left, but none of them gave a hint as to where he disappeared to.

But, what else happened six years ago? 

That, Voldemort struggled to remember. Potter had never shown any signs, not any that the man noticed. Yes, the boy had grown a bit thicker, but he had assumed it was because the boy could finally eat. Yes, he had suddenly started acting differently, almost as if he was hiding something, but Voldemort assumed he was hiding his studies, or actually trying to be good.

There had been stories from the guards that Potter had to suddenly jump up and run to the restroom several times, but he had thought nothing of it.

But now it made sense. Potter  _ had _ been hiding something. The time he had loudly proclaimed that they were never having children, when he disappeared for moments at a time with Narcissa. Potter had been pregnant, that’s what he was hiding.

And he had run off with Voldemort’s child as if he would have done something to harm it! Voldemort always took care of what was his. He had already taken care of a child before, August’s annoying habit of taking in strays. 

But, now he needed to focus. He needed to find his child, his heir, and bring it back home. And, he needed to find out what they had done to make the child look like a Malfoy.

* * *

_ August was beautiful, he had always thought so. So much like him, a dark past filled with secrets, yet somehow August came out of it beautifully, unlike him. There wasn’t a hint of the ugliness that warped its way through Tom’s heart in August, anywhere. Everything about August was beautiful.  _

_ From his curly brown hair that shown red in the light, to his crooked smile, to his practically glowing green eyes. From his loving heart that reached out to everyone, to his love for their little family, to his unwavering trust of Tom, no matter what happened. August was the most beautiful thing to happen in his life. _

_ And now it was ruined.  _

_ He had hurried home the moment he felt August’s concern, his lover’s pain ripping through him like a bullet. By the time he arrived, they were gone, both August and the child, dead and lost to him. At least the boy had died quickly, slumped on the stairs, but August. . .  _

_ August was gone in the worst of ways. Blood pooled beneath him, his clothes ripped to shreds. His body was twisted in a way so that Tom could see everything that had happened to him. Hiding behind the glassy stare, Tom swore he could see a disappointed darkness. _

_ For the first time ever, August was ugly. _

_ He screamed himself hoarse, his voice going unnoticed amongst the others mourning their loved ones. Pain, disgusting and ugly tore into his chest, his very being mourning his soulmate, his soul ripping into his insides trying to escape with his loss. The pain was more extreme than anything he had ever felt before, and he could only let it bleed through his mind, his body collapsing next to the only person he ever loved. _

_ “I’ll find whoever did this, and when I do, they will wish they were the ones lying here dead.” _

* * *

  
  


It took him two months. Two months to discover that the child in the forest was indeed his child. Two months to be able to track her exact magical signature. Two months to realize that her magic was uniquely tied to his, in a way only a parental bond could. Two months to find her once again in a new forest, but still hiding out near the wards.

Had she not already learned her lesson?

Her head shot up at the sound of his movements, eyes weary and tired. She stood slowly, dusting soil off of her skirt, giving Voldemort the sight of her gloved hands, covering the gift he had left her with at their last meeting. 

As he grew closer, he could taste the glamours surrounding her body, one of his own creations. There were layers upon layers covering her from prolonged use, having already been used too long on the child. It made him angry to know that his own spell was used against his child in such a way, that Potter would do this to the young girl.

For what reason?

Voldemort struggled to reign in the anger, having no wish to scare the child again. He moved ever so slowly closer, feeling the wards kiss against him, hoping not to startle her too much. 

But, oddly, at the sight of him, her eyes lit up, excitement and curiosity flowing through her.

“ _ A snake! _ ” She flew towards him, his body tensing at the sight. She crouched excitedly before him, gloved hand stuck out in invitation. “ _ Hello! Daddy must have forgot to put the snake wards up! It’s nice to meet you! _ ”

It took him a moment to realize the child was speaking parseltongue, surprise overtaking him at the clear sentence she spoke to him. When he decided to come in his animagus form, he had hoped she would have some knowledge of the language, enough to have a conversation maybe, but to have the ability to speak so  _ clearly _ . To have such an understanding of it was shocking as if she had already been having conversations in the magical language. 

Voldemort lifted himself, just enough to look in her eyes, not to frighten her. “ _ Hello, child. I notice that you are a speaker, which means you should know not to behave so towards a snake. _ ”

Almost instantly, her hand was down, her head tilted as she accepted his words.  _ “I’m sorry. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen a snake.” _

She sat on the ground, her eyes never leaving his. She was obviously a very curious child, leaving Voldemort to wonder how she hadn’t found snakes on her adventures. He heard her mention snake wards, but surely Potter hadn’t found a ward specifically to block snakes from entering their area? Would he really go so far to block his child from knowing her heritage? 

Slowly, he curled around himself, watching her eyes light up in curiosity at his size. “ _ What do you call yourself, child? _ ”

She jumped, a wide smile forming on her face. “ _ My name is Lyra, I live in the forest with my daddy and uncle. And what’s your name? _ ”

“ _ You may call me Riddle, young one. It has been a long time since I have come across a speaker such as yourself. Why do you live in the woods, child? _ ”

Lyra looked around as if making sure there was no one to hear her spill secrets to her newfound friend. “ _ Daddy says there’s a bad man who wants to hurt us. So we gotta live in the woods so he can’t find us. I’ve only met a bad man once, so I don’t wanna meet another one. They’re scary. _ ”

Rage. It was all he could think about. Potter described to their child that he was a “bad man?” That he wanted to hurt her! How dare the brat. Not only did he run away with his heir, but he taught her to fear him.

It took him a moment to realize the child was quickly backing up, his loud, angry hissing loud even in his own ears. She didn’t look afraid, just concerned, a familiar braveness he saw in Potter’s eyes. He could see so much of Potter in her, and yet there was something about her that reminded him of himself. If only he could remove the magic shrouding her true self he would know what else they shared. 

“ _ My apologies. I must take my leave now, young Lyra. _ ” 

“Wait!”

Her small voice called out to him, but it was too late for him to listen. He had already turned and fled, refusing to allow his anger to continue to overtake him. He refused to hear her disappointed sound, ignoring as her footsteps carried her in the opposite direction.

* * *

His home was a mess, it looked as if a tornado had come through, wrecking everything in its path. Maybe it had been a tornado. The way his uncontrollable anger moved him, it might as well have been. 

He still could not believe that not only was Potter blocking their offspring from her true nature, but was teaching her to fear him. His own child, his heir, afraid of him. 

Not that he could blame her if she truly feared him. He had let his anger fuel him, fuel his magic into a destructive inferno, burning everything in its path, including the child he didn’t even know he had. A painful memory that will show itself on her body for the rest of her life. 

Voldemort, the dark lord, for the first time, in an extremely long time, felt  _ weak _ . How could he be in this child’s life without causing her more harm? How could the most powerful wizard in the world return the child to where she was meant to be, without scarring her or having to fight her bearer?

And why did he want to be in this child’s life so badly?

Why did he wish to be seen in a good light by this child? Why, when in his past he simply would have taken the child and waited for Potter to return to him, did he care how she saw him? Was it because Potter had gotten to her first, teaching the child to fear him? Or was it because he actually wanted to have a relationship with his own offspring.

The thought was ridiculous. Lord Voldemort did not need to have a good relationship with anyone. He needed to focus on his win of Magical Britain, and getting Potter back to where he was supposed to be. Not concerning himself with useless feelings.

“My Lord?”

“What!” Voldemort turned to face Lucius, his ire rising at the sight of the man. How similar his child looked to the man before him. “What is it now, Lucius!”

Lucius had certainly gotten more used to him over the years, not reacting to the Dark Lord’s anger as it was thrown in his face. “There is an important message, my Lord. Gellert Grindelwald has escaped his captivity in Nurmengard. It is believed he had help, though it is unknown who would have wanted to help him.”

Voldemort wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly who Grindelwald was, it was his men who killed August in one of their raids. He had planned to let the man rot in his cell, let him feel what he had felt. 

But, plans change.

“Find him. Bring him to me alive. I must be the one to kill him.”


	2. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, surprise! It certainly has been a while. I really did have more plans for this chapter, but I decided it would be awkward to go from Draco to Tom in the same chapter. Sorry, it's so short.

Draco never regretted joining Harry on his escape. He never would. What he would regret was watching the insanity that slowly seemed to settle in Harry’s mind, a darkness in the other’s eyes he had never seen before. Harry’s actions changed the moment they escaped, and over the years has only gotten worse. 

Even now, as Harry hummed softly, combing through his daughter’s hair, he was pushing magic over the girl, his eyes dark and intent. Draco could remember the last time he questioned Harry’s choice of continuously coating his daughter in glamour, the one-sided screaming match had lasted for hours. Little Lyra seemed content though, her head leaned back as her father pulled the comb through her hair, gently tugging the locks out of the rare tangle. She always basked in her father’s attention, even the dangerous kind. 

Draco could still remember the day Lyra was born, like a storm in his mind. After they obliviated the kind healer that had helped them, Harry held the infant for maybe two hours, before passing her to him. 

“ _ Name her. _ ” he had said, already standing and practically waddling to his office. “ _ I need to get back to work. _ ”

It had distressed him and the infant greatly. Lyra’s high-pitched wails filled the halls of their small cottage, her tiny fist beating Draco’s chest as she called out for her bearer. She had been so small, dark curls resting upon her scalp, her eyes a vibrant red. Draco had no idea what he was doing, rocking the child carefully as she cried. 

He had named her Lyra Lily, named after the constellation and her grandmother. Harry had been pleased when he told him, but his attention never faded from his work, barely giving his child the time of day. 

Lyra had been two, just beginning to toddle around, when Harry really seemed to  _ look _ at her. The red of her eyes seemed to panic him, and he immediately began to shroud her under a spell after spell, until she no longer looked like herself. She cried whenever she saw herself in the mirror for months, but Harry barely seemed to give her a glance. 

Draco knew what was happening, Harry himself had warned him of it. Separation breeds insanity, he had said. The longer they were apart, the weaker their connection, causing their souls to begin to  _ reject _ them. He could only fear what was happening on the Dark Lord’s end. 

Three and half years into their hiding they caught wind of Voldemort having won the war. His fury was well known, even the small nearby village feared his wrath. The efforts the man had made in his sane moments with Harry seemed to secure his win, his bloodthirsty battle management from Harry’s disappearance served to crush his enemies. 

The moment Harry learned of Voldemort’s overwhelming win he shut down, locking the three of them into their small cottage, despite Draco’s requests to just leave, go to their second hiding place in France. But, Harry refused, claiming they were safer there, where he could keep an eye on Grindelwald. 

That was the first time Draco thought of contacting the Dark Lord. 

It had been over three years on a mission he didn’t expect to take so long, and it pained him to see Harry throw himself further and further into the deep end. His goal soon became dangerous, focusing on killing a man, more than he was thinking about protecting his daughter. 

Now, Draco knew it was foolish. Knew what he was doing would probably put them in more danger than helping them, but Lyra deserved more than what she was getting. He feared that if things kept going the way they were, the girl would end up with no parents caused by the insanity of both of her parents.

So, nearly six years into their famous disappearance, Draco let himself be spotted. His life on the run made him jumpy and cautious but made it easy for him to spot some of Voldemort’s men patrolling the village. He knew they saw him, could feel it when their eyes zeroed in on his back, could hear as their footsteps changed to keep pace behind him. 

They followed him about halfway to the wards, before stopping and ultimately deciding to report what they saw. Draco knew it wouldn’t be long before the Dark Lord came for them himself, and he decided too late that maybe he should have told Harry.

When he saw Lyra’s little hands burnt black and red, blood dripping down her arms as she screamed. He had never felt so  _ awful _ in his life. Watching the little girl he cared for crumble in pain, her entire body shaking with her sobs. 

Draco did what he could, but he was no healer. Harry’s panicked screeching behind him did nothing to help as he soothed the young child, rushing to do whatever spells he could think of that would stop the torment of pain Lyra was feeling. Of course, it wouldn’t be enough.

Her hands were scarred, though not as bad as he originally feared, enough for the girl to look at her hands and sob at the look of them. There was no way Harry was going to let a healer see her, not after Voldemort finding them and making him snap in a way Draco had never seen before. 

He had been able to placate Lyra, gifting her a pair of soft gloves he had prepared for her birthday and the coming winter, her expression somber as they hid her burns from sight. Harry was not so easy as he paced around the house, throwing up new and more intricate magics to keep them out of the Dark Lord’s radar.

“Is- Is daddy mad at me?” Her little voice was so quiet, cracking from the previous strain of her shouts. 

Draco could only hold her close, gently rocking her as he had done all those years before. “No, princess. He’s not mad at you, just scared.”

Lyra sniffled, curling into his embrace. “Who was that scary man?”

Draco froze. He knew she would ask eventually. “He’s. . .”

He sighed. He would never truly be ready to answer this question. “I wouldn’t call him a bad man. He has done some truly awful things, including hurting you, but he has a good reason. He wants good things, but. . . he’s sick.”

After another sigh, he double-checked that Harry wasn’t around to hear their conversation. “Like your daddy. He does bad things sometimes, but he means well. He’s sick too. You see, the scary man you met and your dad are connected, and they want to be together, but because they stay away from each other, it makes them sick.”

“Why don’t they be together then?” 

Draco lifted the small child, intent on carrying her to bed so she could finally rest after her extreme day. “Well. . . They’re scared, Princess. Your dad is trying to protect you, and the scary man. . . He just wants to find you and your dad.”

No. Draco didn’t regret his life with Harry and Lyra. But he did regret letting things get this far. 

And then they discovered Grindelwald’s escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, my mind has not been in the right place lately, and I think I put more focus on what everyone else wanted before myself, and I just ended up burned out. And, especially with the way things in the world are going, I just haven't had the energy, or the creativity, to work on any of this.  
> I am going to get back on track, albeit slowly, giving myself more time to actually think about where my stories are headed, and I want to interact more with you guys, my readers.   
> Thank you for your continued support, and all the lovely messages you have sent my way. They really make me feel like I'm doing something here, and even if I just give you the smallest amount of enjoyment in your day, I'm glad.   
> I promise Tom will be the next chapter, and it will hopefully be longer. I hope you enjoy.


	3. Damon

_ Seraphen was never really sure if he wanted children. He never thought he would make a good father, his own parentage made him sure of that. But, when he first held his young son in his arms, he was sure he never wanted anything more.  _

_ It almost made him feel guilty for keeping the child and his darling bearer locked away. He knew he couldn’t be wrong about that, his soulmate and child deserved the most protection possible, and keeping them in that locked room was the safest thing for them, for his family.  _

_ He refused to think on what would happen if he lost either of them.  _

_ But his husband. Darling Alexi seemed to think differently. No matter what he did to make his soulmate safe seemed to backfire. Every time he visited his small family, Alexi seemed more and more distant, refusing to respond to Seraphen for long spans of time, his body growing smaller, eyes sadder. Seraphen hated this feeling of weakness this gave him, knowing that keeping his family safe was more important than their overall happiness.  _

_ Wasn’t it? _

_ If only Alexi could understand. _

_ “Daddy! Daddy! Look what I can do!”  _

_ Seraphen was finally pulled out of his thoughts as he watched Damon create small sparks at the tips of his fingers. The boy was proud, and so was he.  _

_ “That’s wonderful, Damon. Did Papa teach you that?” He delicately pulled the boy's hand into his own, looking for any sign of injury while eyeing the boy's bearer reading silently in the corner.  _

_ “Yeah! Papa said that when I get older I can go to school and show my new friends that I can already do some magic!”  _

_ Seraphen was so proud of his little son, the boy equally proud of himself. “Of course, you’ll get to go to Hogwarts when you’re older. But, all the other children will be like you, they’ll already have practiced. You better keep practicing so you can learn something that will really impress them.” _

_ Damon nodded, looking up at his father with wide, excited eyes. He clapped and bounced around the room, happily telling his parents what he planned to do once he got to go to school and have friends.  _

_ “Damon darling, don’t act too wildly.” Alexi’s voice called out for the first time since Seraphen’s visit.  _

_ He went to ask his husband why, when he discovered that Alexi had been replaced with another young man. He didn’t know who this man was, but something about him was heart-achingly familiar. The man graced his glance with concern, confusion as to why Seraphen was staring at him so strangely. _

_ “Seraphen? What’s wrong?” _

_ “Where is he? What have you done with him?” Serephen hated how broken and lost his voice sounded. How could his soulmate have disappeared with him in the room, watching him so closely?  _

_ “Where is Alexi?” His voice grew louder, shock filling the young man’s eyes. “Where is he! Tell me! Where has he gone?” _

* * *

Lord Voldemort did not often think of his past, as such things tend to lead to regret and Lord Voldemort did not regret anything he did. But, something about his daughter refused to let him forget. 

Fire.

It seemed to be something he couldn’t get away from. Fire seemed to come from him in waves, the flames burning everything in its path, starting from his childhood. When Dumbledore had arrived in his shitty room at the orphanage and burned the only belongings he had. It seemed to be from there where his love of fire stemmed. 

Even when he was young, he experimented with burning the flesh, testing the best way to mark his servants, so they will always feel the burning thought of him. In one of his final battles with Dumbledore, he had conjured a snake of flames that contracted and contorted with his rage, his intent to burn the old man the same way he had been burned with the man’s obvious hatred. 

And even before then, it had been his rage, and though he loathed to admit it, his fear that caused his original demise. His anger that someone dared stand in his way, that someone had been born just to spite him. His burning anger that the woman would not move out of his way, and finally. Finally. The fury that filled him at the sight of those reflective green eyes. How his memory of his lost lover came back to him, and how the babe had looked at him so knowingly.

And how, when he had sent the death spell flying, his body erupting in a fury of pain, like his own fire had begun burning through his veins. The fire within him, the long-lasting pain at the loss of his soulmate exploding through him, burning his body to nothingness, and his soul, burning, burning, burning, until he could stand it no longer and attached himself to a piss poor example of a wizard. 

The insanity had long since settled within him by that point, and now wherever he went, his fire followed. His first meeting with Harry when the boy was eleven, surrounded by flames, his body returning to ash when the curse of the stone struck him through the boy’s power. When he could burn through the child’s mind with dangerous accuracy. When the discovery of exactly who Potter was to him hit he had burned a forest down with his rage. When the boy escaped his grasp one final time, a whole section of his home felt the blow of his fury. 

And now. 

When he first met his daughter, his anger, pure and sharp, flew from him without a second thought, the fire crushing her will, and burning the skin off of her delicate hands. 

Her screams haunted him. Odd, since his life had been full of scream after scream, and none had distracted him as much as this. Not even the Potter woman’s screams affected him this way. Already this girl was becoming a weakness to him, his thoughts trailing to her whenever he had a moment to think.

Even his dreams were focused on children. He had never had memories of his past lives before, not as specific as these, but something about the shock of having a child seemed to have awakened something in him. 

And he was getting tired of it. 

* * *

He tried to visit her, at least once a week if possible. Already, in the few months he had known her, she had grown. Slightly taller, a little less baby fat in the cheeks, hair longer. It wasn’t much, no of course not, it had only been a few months, but every slight change, no matter how small, amazed him. 

Her magic seemed to grow with her. 

It was interesting to witness, her magic bubbling and fighting against the layer of magic pressed against her skin. Sometimes, when the girl was in deep thought, her magic reacting to her intensity, he swore he saw a flash of red in her eyes as she fought layer after layer of glamour. 

Not that the child knew that that was happening. 

She seemed to enjoy his company, he knew it could only be because she had no idea he was not simply a snake come to visit. There was a loneliness in her, overshadowed by her overabundance of curiosity, and her budding powers. The sadness lurked beneath the surface, only noticeable when she began to tell him stories of her life so far. 

The desperate need to feel loved poured off of her in waves, and for the second time he counted the differences between them. Where his expressions fell from him in burning flame after burning flame, hers seemed to flow, to move slowly like a small creek flowing through a forest. Her emotions poured like rain instead of spread like flames. 

And he was amazed by how someone so small, who seemed so excited to have one friend in her life, was so different from him when he had been so similar as a child.

Had he been like her, where would he be now? Would he think more before acting upon his anger? Would he have stopped himself before he had caused great harm to the child before him? Would he carry regret for the things he had done to get to where he was today?

No. Impossible. Lord Voldemort regrets nothing.

“Riddle? Have you been listening?” Soft leather smoothed over his scales, the child delicately petting the top of his head. He had told her to ask before she dared to touch him, but her gentle touch often surprised him, to the point he had grown to accept it.

“ _ Sorry, child. I was lost in my own thoughts. _ ”

She had long since discovered that he could understand English, just not speak it, so she spoke to him like she would any other, translating his side of the conversation easily in her own mind. Her gloved hand touched his head once more, scratching gently over the scales as she seemed to lose herself in her thoughts.

“Daddy’s been. . . Odd, lately. He’s been leaving a lot, sometimes for a few hours and sometimes for a few days. Uncle Draco says he’s looking for the bad man, so we can be safe. I just wish Daddy didn’t have to leave so much.” A sad sigh fell from her lips, her body sagging as she stared into the woods in front of her.

Voldemort hissed, his body condensing as her words settled in. Potter was hunting him? To protect their daughter from him? The very thought made him want to spit flames from his throat, to steal the child away so that Potter would see how well his protection went. To know that Voldemort had been there the whole time, and could have taken the child at any point.

But he settled, the girl’s hand upon him soothing his ire as he fought to keep himself from scaring her. She seemed to have gotten used to his outbursts, his sudden hisses of anger, and shifting of muscles. 

And yet, she still asked him to return to her each time he left. Asked for him to bring her stories of the outside world, for him to return to listen to her stories of home. He had no idea how long she waited for him in between visits, if she would just sit on the stump in the woods, waiting for him to arrive. He would always come across her drawing or writing in a little book, or on rare occasions, practicing her spellwork. 

He felt himself being oddly proud of his child, pride for someone else, an unusual feeling in him. 

They sat in a shared silence, her breathing the only sound in the unnatural quiet of the woods around them. She seemed to get smaller, shrinking in on herself as her thoughts began to take over. He could taste the saltiness of tears in the air and knew the child was close to crying. 

“Do you think he leaves because of me?” Her voice was a quiet, scared, and sad mumble. “Because of the man that hurt me? Maybe if I had followed the rule and stayed close to the house, he wouldn’t have to leave. He could stay home to keep us safe.”

_ “Maybe I should have listened. If we had stayed inside, Damon would be safe. I wouldn’t have to protect him from  _ **_you_ ** _.” _

Voldemort shook his head, trying to remove the sudden memory from his mind. He refused to allow it to distract him, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind so he could focus in the moment. He shook his head one final time, his eyes focusing once more on the world around him.

“ _ No. No, child. I believe he would have begun leaving sooner or later, whether you had gotten hurt or not. Parents will do many odd things when trying to protect their young. _ ” 

His hissing seemed to soothe her, her expression relaxing as she took his words to heart. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

He wanted to tell her that Lord Voldemort was always right, because he, of course, could never be wrong. But, he bit his tongue, refusing to allow his pride to take over in this bubble of understanding he had with his daughter. 

They sat once more in silence, Voldemort remaining a short time longer than usual. He disliked leaving the child, but eventually, it became a necessity. 

He had the wizarding world to rule, after all. 


End file.
